The mission was far harder than imagined

William almost blurted out Batman's identity.

Fortunately, he held back at the last second.

What if the young man in front of him wasn't Bruce?

William had never liked celebrating before the game was over.

"I'll find evidence proving who you are. It won't take more than a few days."

"If you really find it, come see me at the Black Truffle Bar."

The young man took the last bite of his burger, then returned the five hundred dollars in his pocket to William.

"You can keep it."

"I don't need it. I box for a living. I can make a hundred and twenty dollars in a night."

Once he realized William wasn't a scammer, the young man's attitude became much friendlier.

What William found hard to take was the superiority on the young man's face when he mentioned his earnings, as though a hundred and twenty a night was an income worth bragging about.

In Gotham's slums, it really was pretty good.

William suddenly realized that this former billionaire had probably spent a long time struggling in the slums after losing his memory.

"You can call me Stuart for now. That's the name Wolf gave me."

"Nice to meet you. I'm William. William Hans."

Outside the fast-food restaurant, the two men shook hands firmly.

After saying goodbye to the young man, William headed back to the police station first.

The best way to prove Stuart was Bruce was to check the records and compare their appearances.

But he apparently didn't understand the American records system, especially when it came to someone born into immense wealth like Bruce Wayne. Keeping his records hidden was standard practice.

There were no medical records. As an adult, Batman almost never got sick, and Alfred treated any injuries he suffered;

There were no dental records. In America, you could often get a rough idea of someone's financial situation just by looking at how straight their teeth were;

There were no tax records. Bruce never drew so much as a cent in salary from Wayne Enterprises.

His account activity showed that his last transaction had been five years ago, when he paid in full for a Ferrari Testarossa.

Of course, it wasn't as though there were no photographs of him on file. There was one attached to a case file involving Bruce Wayne.

It was a photograph taken when Bruce was the sole witness to the Crime Alley shooting. He had been only eight that year, and the boy in the picture bit his lip tightly, his eyes vacant.

Gordon's finger hovered over the mouse for a long time, reluctant to click.

It had been the first case he handled after joining the force. He had even taken the photograph himself.

He had promised Bruce he would catch the killer.

And he had kept that promise.

New Jersey hadn't abolished the death penalty back then, and the killer had been executed almost immediately after his trial.

Yet throughout it all, Gordon had never seen the satisfaction of vengeance on Bruce Wayne's face.

"If Gotham City has police, why are there still criminals?"

The young Bruce had asked Gordon that question.

Back then, Gordon had been unable to answer that brief yet profound question. But if he had another chance to stand before Bruce now, perhaps he would say:

"The police can make bad people pay.

"But the ones who decide whether more of them appear-are people like you."

It had taken Gordon many years of thought to arrive at that answer.

Unfortunately, he had never seen Bruce again after that.

The good news was that Bruce seemed to have reached a similar answer even earlier than he had.

When the adult Bruce Wayne took the reins of his business empire, he hadn't rushed to expand its territory. Instead, he established charitable organizations and institutions offering insurance and loans in the Wayne Family's name.

Caring for elderly people with no one to support them, helping addicts get clean, sheltering orphans, providing affordable health insurance and student loans...

Over those two years, Wayne Enterprises' policies had quietly reshaped Gotham. Combined with Batman's intimidation and deterrence, they had left Gordon shocked when the year-end statistics came in: for the first time ever, Gotham City's crime rate had fallen below New York's, making it the second-lowest in the country.

But all of that had come to an abrupt halt a year ago.

"If I were Bruce, perhaps I'd have lost all faith in this city too..."

Gordon muttered to himself, then glanced over to find William staring at him suspiciously.

"Did I miss a spot shaving?"

"No! I was just marveling at how, in those few seconds, an entire sweeping epic seemed to play out in your eyes, Mr. Gordon."

William teased him.

After all, the bubble beside Gordon had displayed his thoughts perfectly clearly.

"All right... William... uh, back to the point! I don't understand why you're investigating Bruce Wayne, but I believe he wouldn't be involved in any criminal case."

"I think so too."

William stood up and casually pocketed the car keys on Gordon's desk.

"As an officer who's still on leave, I'm afraid I'll need to borrow your car."

Gordon didn't even ask why.

"Be careful not to scratch it, and remember to fill the tank before you bring it back."

William spun the keys around his finger by their ring and made an OK sign with his back to Gordon.

His next stop was, of course, Wayne Manor.

Since the records system hadn't provided any useful photographs, having Alfred identify him was the only option left.

He rounded the final bend, and the headlights swept away the darkness.

At the end of the road, a stretch of woodland enclosed by iron railings slowly came into view.

Tall oaks and firs swayed gently in the night breeze. As the lights shone through a path between the trees, William could just make out a shadowy building standing on a distant hillside.

That was his destination.

Its gray-black stone walls blended into the night, while soaring spires and towers pierced the sky.

The entire building had an air so ancient it bordered on stubborn-as though, no matter how many riots, fires, and reconstructions Gotham endured, this castle would remain standing here.

William parked at the gate and rang the bell.

While he waited, he surveyed the grounds by the light of the headlights.

Lush greenery and shrubs trimmed into rounded shapes made it clear that someone had been maintaining the estate all along.

And, of course, there was the ancient well that had witnessed Batman's birth.

William rubbed his burning cheeks. If this damned year of 1991 had offered camera phones, he would certainly have found a way to pose beside it for a cozy selfie.

Question Blue Beetle; become Blue Beetle; surpass Blue Beetle. Who wasn't a Batman fan?

A figure approached from the distance. William immediately reined in his smile and tugged at his wrinkled collar.

But when that face appeared in the headlights, he couldn't help frowning.

Why was he Black?!

Had this DC Universe been invaded by that damned LGBT political correctness too?

"Mr. Alfred Pennyworth?" He was so nervous that he licked his lips, praying the man wouldn't nod.

"Mr. Pennyworth and Master Wayne have gone on holiday to France. I'm the acting butler of Wayne Manor. If you have any important business, I can pass it along."

"No, that's not necessary. I'll wait until they return."

William put on a fake smile and shook his head.

He wouldn't reveal a single word before meeting Alfred.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he drove away. As the glow of the halogen headlights vanished from the gates of Wayne Manor, the acting butler dropped his professional smile too.

His icy gaze pierced the thin mist of the outskirts, fixing on the license plate illuminated in red.

"K27-LMP. I'll remember that."